


Townie

by Asimiento



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22198687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asimiento/pseuds/Asimiento
Summary: Richie Tozier, writing a standup special after the paps out him:"This means I can make homophobic jokes now, right?"Or, a full hour-long transcript of Richie Tozier's comeback special on Netflix. Originally released on September 2017.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 230





	Townie

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to actual professional comedians and a Youtube user comment in Chris Fleming's Showpig. Details in the end notes.
> 
> This is envisioned as a somewhat realistic one-hour standup special, meaning plenty of liberties are taken, and some jokes skew slightly offensive and play up stereotypes. This does not reflect the author's actual views.

TOWNIE

Netflix Comedy Special

Length: 1 Hour

Starring: Richie Tozier

Release date: September 2017

TRANSCRIPT

_A bright light blooms and slowly sharpens into focus on a single spotlight. A handheld camera pans through an empty theater. Polished wooden floors, heavy scalloped curtains flanked by decorative jambs, footlights by the edge, and several thousand empty seats. The scene fades._

_The camera makes a shaky sweep down the exterior of a baroque building. It cuts to a lit marquee reading:_ _RICHIE TOZIER — TOWNIE_ _in two rows._

_In the theater, the camera follows a path backstage to an open door. It settles by a dresser, in front of which RICHIE TOZIER is pacing. He looks at the camera, then to the person behind it._

RICHIE: Hey, Eds, do you think it’s too late to cancel? This feels a little skeevy. Opportunistic. Like, cashing in on the whole coming out thing. Does that make me gay for pay? Am I technically gay for pay? Tell me I can still back out of this.

FILMER: _You’re sold out._

RICHIE: What if I bomb onstage again? What if that becomes, like, my thing? Y’know what, I’m just gonna down this whole whatever this is, no big. I’ll see you in the ER, maybe.

_Richie walks to the dresser. He picks up an orange prescription bottle at the corner of the dresser and rattles it._

FILMER: _What’s in it?_

RICHIE: BuSpar, I think?

FILMER: _They discontinued that, like, five years ago._

RICHIE: Oh. What’s this, then?

_Richie squints, lifts the bottle up to his eyes, shrugs, and pops the cover open. He makes a show of downing all the pills in one gulp. The man carrying the camera, seen from behind, runs up to grab the bottle from Richie._

FILMER: _Hey, what the fuck, bro!_

CUT TO:

_Richie sits on a stool set against a dark wash backdrop. He cleans his glasses with the hem of his shirt. A label in the corner, set in white text, reads:_ _RICHIE TOZIER, 41 — Comedian. _

FILMER: _What was your childhood like?_

RICHIE: We grew up together, dude—

FILMER: _[Groaning] This is your script. Could you just?_

JUMP CUT TO:

RICHIE: Sometimes I feel like I grew up in the Twilight Zone, as the combined effect of being practically the only self-aware queer in a small, isolated place where the best show in town was talking shit about other people. Like, not falling in lock-step with everybody else was practically painting a target on yourself.

 _As Richie speaks, archival photos of_ _DERRY, MAINE_ _cycle through the frame. A yard in front of a school, empty in the summer. An old, crumbling house. A rickety bridge above a creek. A suburban tract of uniform houses with manicured lawns, taken from the middle of the road. The exterior of an old stone synagogue. A grassy town square with an empty white gazebo._

RICHIE: When I was a kid, I was afraid of werewolves, or turning into one, which my therapist told me might be a manifestation of something about me that’s beyond my control.

_The frame runs through pictures of Richie as a child—at home on Christmas, riding a bike down neighborhood. Seven children piled together on the grass, big grins all._

RICHIE: I told her that can’t possibly be right, because there’s nothing significant about me that’s beyond my control apart from, like, where I grew up. So whatever it is about me that’s fucked up must have come from Derry. 

_The reel holds on a photo of two boys sitting in the backseat of a car, taken from behind with the trunk door open._

RICHIE: Several years later, as I became more, like, cognizant, or just older in general… I realized she was onto something. Because there is something about me that I can't help. 

_A photo of a young Richie on a hammock, flipping the bird._

RICHIE: I’m a giant asshole.

CUT TO BLACK

TITLE CARD: TOWNIE

♬♬♬

_Trumpets blare a jazz tune over applause. The scalloped curtain pulls back: a mic on a stand waits in the middle of the wide floor, a wide canvas screen projects the title card behind. Briefly, the camera pans across the seats—all filled—then swivels back to the stage._

_Richie Tozier enters the stage._

RICHIE: Hi! Hello! Thank you, New York City. All right, all right. It’s been a couple of months since I did this, and the last time, I flubbed all my lines. But a lot has changed since then. Not changed in the became-a-different-person sense. This is more like how when you know somebody's secret hobby and suddenly you have to reevaluate your entire opinion of them. Like when you find out the couple next door are swingers or they’re really into boardgames. Suddenly every time they invite you over you’re like, _“oh, I’m flattered, but please stay away from me.”_ There’s just a vibe. Like, an _Our Holiday Cards are Nudes we will Insist are Artful_ air about them, which is basically every other couple in Silver Lake. I do not want to be invited to any of your themed costume parties with a heavily implied sexual undercurrent.

RICHIE: I came out recently, in case some of you were unaware. At least ten of you probably came here thinking I was some other guy. The ones who’ve never heard of me until last month are probably surprised I only came out in 2016, because I look like this. [ _Richie gestures to indicate his comportment._ ] Very genderfluid. This is a look that is bi-curious at the very fucking least. This is not a new look. I have been rocking the _Community College English Teacher who Moonlights as a Drag Queen_ vibe my whole career. And not even the good kind of drag queen. Some people, they give off a drag queen vibe that’s like, _“get the fuck out of my way.”_ My entire thing is more like, suburban dad having a midlife crisis, real amateur hour, lace fronts peeking from a prematurely receding hairline type of drag. Like, it's a specific vibe that’s straddling the dangerously fragile threshold between aging homosexual and narc.

RICHIE: I also got engaged. [ _The crowd applauds._ ] Thank you. My fiancé's been my best friend since we were eight. We both grew up weirdly. He, painfully repressed, and I, deeply closeted. I always thought that meant I must have developed a knack for misdirection, or at least become an adequate liar. Turns out I’d grown up like the world's worst secret agent, and everyone around me was just playing along.

_The screen projects a photo of Richie and another boy wearing short shorts and a polo shirt, around eleven years old, in the middle of the street, snapped mid play-fighting. The crowd goes “awww.”_

RICHIE: My wardrobe was just… [ _Gesturing to his shirt._ ] And whenever I wanted Eddie’s attention, I’d be like, _“I fucked your mom, dipshit!”_ As a completely heterosexual, not at all left-field lead-in to what I really wanted to say, which was: [ _In a baby voice_ ] _“Hey, Eds, wanna wrestle?”_

_As the audience laughs, Richie turns around to look at the photo on the screen. He shakes his head._

RICHIE: Contact sports are ironic. When the Greeks tried coming up with the most hypermasculine thing to the point of over-compensation, they went over the fulcrum and came up with the gayest thing ever. Every sport was essentially a different way to gawk at half-naked male bodies piled over each other. I liked team sports because that was the only time male affection was acceptable, where I came from. If you had your arm around your male friends, people would harass you and go, _“fuck off, queers!”_ But sports are acceptable despite being even more tender than any hand-holding or secret handshake could ever hope to be. Football games are beautiful in this sweet way. There's something innocent and darling about friends running through the grass, passing around a little ball. And then at the end everybody hugs and cries! Intimate. I mean, I didn't find it erotic, I wasn't like a tiny creep, but sports were the only way to be vulnerable around other guys. Anywhere else, you try to go in for a hug and end up like—

_Richie shuffles around, miming maneuvering around another person trying to go for a hug, turning away awkwardly, coming back and retreating again, ending up going for a feeble high-five instead. A mix of laughter and awwws from the audience._

RICHIE: My other thing was theater club and I would hang around the meanest girl I knew—that's a compliment, by the way. I'd be at her beck and call. She'd be like, _"carry my purse, you gangly bitch,"_ and I'd say something like: [ _In a tiny, nasal voice_ ] _"oh-oh-okayyy!"_

_A polaroid flashes of Richie draped in ruffled fabrics, making a goofy face while a girl with red hair poses dramatically, sitting on a chair with one leg kicked out. On the border, in sharpie, the photo is marked: TOZIER & MARSH, ‘92. The audience laughs. _

RICHIE: So when I finally came out, my friends looked at me all: [ _Looking down and twirling the mic cord, feigning surprise_ ] _"Woooow, Rich. We had noooo idea."_

RICHIE: I grew up in a town called Derry, which is somewhere in the middle of Bumfuck, Maine. It is a small town. Scenic, technologically challenged, with a storied tradition of racial violence and a terribly shallow gene pool on the whole. It is a town known for many, many unsolved cases involving children, dozens of whom have ended up missing or dead. This is the real wikipedia page for Derry. No, I am not making this up.

_Richie points to the screen behind him, showing a screenshot of the Wikipedia content summary under Derry, Maine. The list reads: 1\. HISTORY, 2. GEOGRAPHY, 3. CULTURE, 4. MURDERS AND DISAPPEARANCES, 5. ALIEN SIGHTINGS, 7. SUPERNATURAL ENCOUNTERS, 6. NOTABLE PEOPLE. _

RICHIE: Eddie and I have declared discussions of our childhood a taboo topic. You must see why. We do not turn to each other and go, _"honey, remember that time when a guy tried to murder us when we were thirteen?"_ That wasn't a joke, that's just a thing I suddenly remembered when I went back to Derry a couple of months ago. Because sometimes your brain represses stuff from your childhood as a defense mechanism. And in my case it made me forget that somebody actually tried to kill me and my friends. No, you did not mishear that. It is under item number six. [ _Richie points to the screen again._ ]

RICHIE: A couple of months back, I took a trip to Child Murder Central to fill those memory gaps because I thought maybe I was going through, like, early onset dementia. So this was a thing that, to me, made a hell of a lot of sense. [ _In a whiny voice_ ] _“You mention death an awful lot of times when you’re talking about your childhood.”_ I do. But being plied with threatening images of every possible way to die while you’re in your youth is practically an inalienable facet of American life. Sex ed class was just a reel of close-ups of warts and skin that looked like raw meat and a totally believable, one-hundred percent real ultrasound of a fetus screaming as its being aborted.

_Richie stops in his tracks. He cranes his neck a bit and looks pointedly at someone at the far end of the audience._

RICHIE: Hey, guy. Yes you, on the phone. [ _He waves and puts on a puckered, forced smile._ ] What are you doing? [ _An inaudible reply comes from the audience._ ] For those who didn’t hear that, he’s checking to see if that Derry page is real. Can we get a camera on you for the people who are gonna see this on Netflix? [ _Another inaudible reply._ ] Thanks, man.

_The view swivels to a bald man in the audience holding up his phone. He’s looking at the camera and nodding, pointing to his phone while mouthing: FUCK, IT’S REAL!_

_The camera returns to the stage, where Richie is awkwardly playing with the mic cord._

RICHIE: I don’t like to put people on the spot. It makes me feel like when you’re a kid and if someone so much as glanced your way, you would go, _“I’d rather die!”_

RICHIE: So I visited Derry for three days. Within those three days, an infamous child murderer sentenced to life since the late 80’s escaped from the penitentiary outside town and I reconnected with the man I would eventually propose to. Those two events are not connected, I don’t know why I strung them together like that.

RICHIE: In a lapsed moment of judgement, I went into the town’s church. I hate myself is why I did it. This was in a Catholic church, which is perhaps the horniest of all the Christian denominations. Anglican churches do not have, hanging over the dais for all to see, an uncomfortably sexy statue of a ripped Jewish man in a loincloth, which in this specific church I popped into had the loincloth artfully draped to show a bit of hip. Like a tease. Jury’s still out on which church is the gayest. Plenty of devout Christians from other sects have never missed a pride parade. [ _Imitating a smug type of guy who says "well, actually" a lot_ ] _"Oh but you see, Richard, there's this thing called homophobia,"_ you may say. And I know. I know, because I was saying homophobic stuff too, just so I could get the gay community's attention, like I did with Eddie. It's sandbox love, except if you beat us up it'd only be fair.

RICHIE: I went in because I was going through a personal crisis, let's not get into that. There was this one woman there, and I didn’t want to make small talk, but she went up to me and seemed like she had something very important to say. She looked at me like [ _giving the once-over_ ] and said, with this grave look on her face, she said, [ _in a shrill voice_ ] _“ya from here?”_ Technically I was, so I said yes, I’m from here. She nodded and continued, [ _as the woman again_ ] _“ya sell drugs?”_ And I said no. Then she asked, [ _as the woman again_ ] _“ya got a dog?”_ And I didn’t know where this was going, but at this point it was getting kind of interesting, like we were playing Twenty Questions. I said no, and she looked at me again like [ _the once-over, a little more aggressively_ ] and said, _“get a dog, but not a tiny one.”_ And I asked her why and this is what she said. She said, _“so people here don’t think you’re a fag.”_

RICHIE: This woman looked at me, appraised me like I was some dusty antique and thought, that’s a guy whose got a look that’s like _Gay Drug-Dealer_. A random woman who happened to be hanging out in an empty church on a Wednesday afternoon! People in Derry are out there loose, walking around, looking for dogless gay people to terrorize.

_The screen switches to a touristy photo of Richie in his twenties, with the Hollywood sign visible in the back._

RICHIE: Coming out in Hollywood is weird when you’re old. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do. There’s a lot of vital cultural accoutrements to study and obligatory rigmarole to get into. Within one week, I’ve gotten accosted to drag nights and SoulCycle. I've gotten calls from my agent where he’d open with: [ _In a soft-spoken voice_ ] _“Hey, Rich, you sing, right? Tom Hooper's doing Cats.”_ Like I suddenly want the gayest project out there. _[A la Nathan Lane in The Producers_ ] _“Richie Tozier’s a homosexual now? Get this Patti LuPone-ass limp-wrist motherfucker in the unsexiest-looking leotard we've got!"_ Cats, from the guy who brought you whatever the fuck Russell Crowe was doing in Les Mis. A couple of months ago I was basically the photo on the Wikipedia page for douchebag. Suddenly, everyone expects this one small thing about me to become my identity now. Sorry, no, I didn't magically wake up with a taste for decorative silk scarves and mimosas.

RICHIE: I do feel like I got a consolation prize for getting over the thing that's caused half the problems in my life. [ _In a gameshow host voice_ ] _“Congratulations—now that you’ve survived a traumatizing childhood in picturesque, homophobic Derry, you win a blanket excuse for every single awful thing about you.”_

RICHIE: I'll fuck up basic things like cutting up vegetables and my fiancé will go, _"what the fuck is wrong with you, dude?"_ To which I will respond, _"we grew up in Derry!"_ because it does explain everything. It. Just Does. In Derry, the most harmless shit you could think of is gay. Manners are gay. Hygiene is gay. Food is gay. I grew up rude and unwashed, with zero survival skills.

CUT TO:

_A man sits on a stool in front of a dark wash backdrop, watching the camera with a grave expression. After a beat, he rolls his eyes and smothers a smile. Underneath, a white label set in serif text reads:_ _BILL DENBROUGH, 41 — Writer_ _._

RICHIE: [ _From behind the camera_ ] _Did you ever write Derry into one of your stories?_

BILL: Not exactly, but Derry might as well be in all my stories. Like where the most mundane things are somehow sinister. Clowns are scary, dead pets are scary, the school swimming pool after hours is scary. Audra actually told me that therapy would have been a healthier way to process what happened to all of us in general.

RICHIE: _Did the books help at all?_

BILL: Uh. Hmm. The other week I ff-froze up in the department store. I was in the middle of this aisle of mannequins and I thought one of them was following me. If that's any indication, at all. Of anything.

RICHIE: _Oh, Billiam…_

CUT TO:

_Another man now sits on the stool, taller and with a softer expression on his face. He looks at something happening behind the camera and laughs, shaking his head. The label underneath reads:_ _MIKE HANLON, 39 — Historian_ _._

MIKE: I think the horror of Derry is the isolation that feeds and perpetuates this hyper-conservative concept of how things should be. And if you didn't fit this specific mould you had to hide. Unless, you're, well. Black. Then you can’t.

RICHIE: [ _Audibly sniffling_ ] _Sorry, man._

MIKE: I thought this was gonna be for a comedy special, Rich.

CUT TO:

_Back in the theater, Richie walks to one end of the stage. On the screen is a picture of Richie in a parking lot, wearing a cheap-looking suit and a skinny tie._

RICHIE: I was eighteen when I moved to California straight from Maine. Somehow I got it in my head that if I wanted to work in Hollywood, I had to transform into the shittiest person anybody knows. I immediately rebranded myself into an asshole. Dressed like a baby cokehead and acted like I was either the smarmiest personal injury lawyer or a Mormon. But, like, for gigs. [ _In an overly enthusiastic salesman’s voice_ ] “Hey, I live in a shitty Toyota and I have no practical life skills. Do you have time to spare me some money?" I worked for people who got exponentially greasier the higher they were up the ladder—as Hollywood behind-the-scenes people tend to be—just a bunch of people who’ve got the whole _Multiple Buried Sexual Harassment Lawsuits_ thing going for them, hopping over to their shitty parties trying to look for more asshats to gopher for.

RICHIE: I went to those parties trying to [ _unenthused jazz hands_ ] network. And in one of those coke-frothed sausage fests, I thought: Los Angeles is super liberal, maybe I should give this being gay thing an actual go. Test out the waters, y’know. Like, if I could come out to some dickhead tripping on acid, that’d be baby gay's first step to, maybe like, feeling okay about myself. So I waited for the perfect opportunity to just bring it up to this guy—this rando who looked like if you combined Jonah Hill and John C. Reilly, added like a hundred years and gave him the sibilant vocal stylings of Paul Lynde. Just a dude with the most harmless _Grandma’s Third Boyfriend from the Retirement Home_ sheen about him. Like, I’ll casually drop it in like it’s nothing. The guy launches into this story about one of the best parties he’s been to, hosted by these two _impeccably-dressed bachelors_ who just _happened to live together_ , and who were _Very Wonderful Friends._

RICHIE: I turn to him and say, [ _shuffling awkwardly_ ] “Uhhh, I thiiiink they might have been gaaaaay.” Extremely prolonged like I wasn’t even sure of how to say the word. _Gaaaaayyyy._ I watch him take this in for a whole minute. Like the gears in his head start grinding, and his whole expression just fucking crumbles. Then when he comes to, he says to me: [ _In a faintly effeminate Southern voice_ ] “Oh, bud, I didn’t need to know about that! You might as well have told me they were pedophiles or something.” And he seemed like he was so torn by that information.

RICHIE: And this happened when I was in my twenties, so I assumed every person was exactly the same. The direct result was that I turned into…

_Richie jabs a thumb at the screen behind. The projector shows a photo of Richie from 2010, in the L.A. Laugh Factory, wearing a band shirt and jeans, a smug expression on his face._

RICHIE: Like I went through _Reverse Queer Eye_. Now I keep re-introducing myself to everybody. I have to keep apologizing for him and blaming everything on, like, this tragic backstory you all paid to hear me yak on about.

CUT TO:

_A woman with red hair wearing a frilled green sits on a stool in front of a dark wash backdrop. She gazes at the camera grinning. Below:_ _BEV MARSH, 40 — Artist_ _._

RICHIE: _Is there something about Derry that stuck with you?_

BEV: I feel like I had to perform the idea of what an independent woman was, and that was all Derry. Like, you’ll never feel good about yourself so you have to be completely different.

RICHIE: _Wow, Molly Ringwald. That’s depressing._

BEV: Thanks for the free therapy, Richie.

RICHIE: _How’d you get over it?_

BEV: I’ll let you know when I do.

CUT TO:

_A man wearing thin glasses, a beleaguered expression on his face, sits with his hands folded. He taps a finger at the mic taped under the collar of his pressed white shirt. Underneath, in white text:_ _STAN URIS, 41_ _._

RICHIE: _How did Derry fuck you up?_

STAN: Sometimes I think paintings stare back at me, which is not a healthy thing to still be imagining in your middle age. I would say it’s the equivalent of the fear of god, but it’s more like the faint sound of nails scraping on a chalkboard tormenting you for the rest of your life. Or like that feeling that there’s somebody behind you. All the time. Appraising you, like you're a show pony.

RICHIE: _I think Derry gave us all anxiety._

STAN: Good thing none of us thought about having a job that involves being onstage and talking to hundreds of people every night, huh?

CUT TO:

_A man in a suit sits cross-legged, hands neatly folded and resting on his lap. He stares at the camera with an appraising look. A label on the corner reads:_ _B EN HANSCOM, 39 — Architect_ _._

RICHIE: _You’re probably the only well-adjusted person to ever come out of Derry._

BEN: The other month my therapist told me I might have an eating disorder.

RICHIE: _Never mind. What shitty mark did Derry leave on you, my man?_

BEN: Have you ever had burnout from having to pretend that you’re at a hundred percent all the time? Okay, I mean, I know you’re not the right person to ask—

RICHIE: _I’m the one asking the questions here, Haystack._

CUT TO:

_On the screen, a photo of Eddie and Richie as adults, sitting on a couch, smiling. An orange tabby cat is curled up on one of the arms. In between paintings and film posters are framed photos behind them, including the snapshot of the two play-fighting as children, among others previously seen in wider view._

RICHIE: I do not have _big_ problems. I am a white man. The kind that America gives a free pass for anything. Literally I've failed up and fucked up. This whole thing has been the equivalent of me saying: _“I’m a homosexual; I would like sixty dollars, please.”_ And you all let that happen, so thanks.

RICHIE: I know some people try to make up for being a shit person with kids. Eddie and I have discussed that possibility. Some use kids to make up for their shitty childhoods that turned into shitty adulthoods while others are more: [ _in an old man voice_ ] _“This infant is my retirement plan!”_ He will never admit it but I think we’re a solid mix of both. But we don’t wanna do the whole thing where when we put our kids in the baby clothing equivalent of this, a stranger asks us if they’re a boy or a girl because that’s basically like asking what genitals our kids have. We don’t wanna think about other brats making fun of our imaginary future child for having two dads. Maybe if we get a tiny dog, it’ll offset things. People will be confused because if you own something like a bulldog, you can’t be gay, right? [ _In a hysterical voice_ ] _“Those two men are carting around one of those baby prams with the bassinets. It has an infant child of questionable genitalia ownership. But! They also have a dog. And not just any dog, but a dog that’s big and threatening. Now I’m confused!”_

RICHIE: I thought coming out and falling in love and getting engaged would magically solve all of my issues. Because now I’m in a relationship that actually makes me feel good about myself, and that probably sounds sad to you if you’re straight. I knew straight guys who would say shit like, [ _in a meathead voice_ ] _“Uh, she has to be cool with doing all the chores by herself for the rest of her life.”_ Gay people are like, _“they have to like me, because everybody else wants me to die.”_ The absolute lowest bar. We just wanna stay alive, at best. But Eddie and I, we grew up in _Homophobe Central_ so we’re cursed with like this permanent itch. Like we’ll never be completely comfortable. Just in the periphery is the thing that’s gonna murder us, so we have to stay on our toes for the rest of our lives. And in my head it’s like, a clown, because my therapist told me that imagining your fears as something concrete and tangible means making them manageable. Because thinking I'm being followed everywhere by a clown is completely normal! So the clown is just—

_Richie, as the clown, dance-jogs to the other side of the stage, in a manner both goofy and menacing at once. He hops a few steps back, making a show of trying to shake off the clown. The crowd laughs, some uncomfortably._

RICHIE: So I’m afraid of things that don’t make any fucking sense. [ _The audience laughs_.] No, don’t laugh, that wasn’t a joke, you assholes!

CUT TO:

_A man in a polo shirt and a hoodie rubs his temples as the camera lens blurs in and out of focus. There is a light pink scar along the right side of his face. He rolls his eyes, straightens his posture and clears his throat. Underneath:_ _EDDIE KASPBRAK, 41_ _._

RICHIE: _[From behind the camera] So. Derry—_

EDDIE: I already know what you’re gonna ask me about and I don’t think anything that happened to me in Derry is anywhere nearly as frightening as watching your eyes get that glaze when you’re obviously working something that just happened to us into a bit.

RICHIE: _Come on. Edward. Eds. Eduardo. Eddie-bear! Eddie-spaghetti!_

_From below the frame, Eddie’s hands seem to be making something. He brings it up—a paper ball—and tosses it in the camera’s direction, right beside it. An inaudible response comes._

EDDIE: What’s there to know? Derry is practically in my DNA. I’m afraid of basically everything. But that’s life, right? You’re never sure of what’s coming. It’s nice to be prepared for the worst, but it’s also pretty good if you get pleasantly surprised by the stuff you’d never expect. You just have to take things as they come.

RICHIE: _Aww, honey._

EDDIE: Shut up, Richie.

CUT TO:

_The screen behind reverts to the title card._

RICHIE: I asked about counseling when I was fifteen. No therapists where I came from, so I looked for the next best thing. I was pointed to what I am now positive was a religious gay conversion camp. On the cover of one of the pamphlets read: _“Do you believe in the afterlife?”_ and shit like _"Jesus helped these other brats get over their issues, and so can you!"_ So basically I’m suspicious about everything. My fiancé is paranoid about the fact that in America, it’s impossible to ingest something that doesn’t have at the very least a corn byproduct in it. But he's paranoid about radiation exposure from TV screens. He's paranoid about all the little boring ways you could possibly die. I’m basically marrying the human version of WebMD. Whenever my stomach’s upset or I’ve got a little bit of a headache, I no longer have to take out my phone so it can tell me I might have cancer. My future husband will happily do that for me.

RICHIE: I’m paranoid about normal things, like if people being friendly are actually trying to lure me into a cult, dupe me into their pyramid scheme, or if they think I’m a dogless gay person who sells drugs. I have to suss out how a conversation is going and if it looks like it’s veering into homicidal territory—or LARPing, which is on the same level—I gotta scram. What I didn’t consider was the reverse. There’s not really much of a threatening aura, so to speak. So I hadn’t realized that women could look at me and be genuinely concerned for their safety.

The screen shows a photo of Richie, early twenties, in an oversized pink paisley print Hawaiian shirt and loose jeans.

RICHIE: [ _Pointing to the screen._ ] Like, you could slap that guy and he’d give you his wallet. There was one day, a couple of years ago. I was in my twenties. I was waiting for the bus, and I was one of two people queued at the stop. The other person was a young woman with headphones on who kept glancing my way every couple of seconds, not unlike when you’re about to sell an eighth, trying to figure out if there’s a cop around, or if you’re a woman and you just so happened to be around… [ _Vaguely gesturing to the photo on the screen, again._ ] It was mildly disconcerting for both of us. She, wondering if I was going to kill her and I, wondering if there was something behind me but too freaked out to so much as take a quick glance and check.

RICHIE: After like half an hour of the most stressful eye tango of my life, and no bus in sight, she hurries away and I follow her. I follow her because, like an idiot I think, maybe she’s going to another bus stop, and there’s no use waiting here. So I follow her. And as I follow her, I realize she’s going faster, like… [ _Richie jogs in place_ ] I gotta keep up. [ _Jogging even faster._ ] And because it never occurred to me that this woman was definitely running from a man who may possibly assault her, when she stops, I keep going until I catch up. And because I’m an idiot, as I watch her go, [motioning grabbing something from his pocket] what she’s doing doesn’t click. All of this happens within maybe a minute, and I only realize that, that entire time, that woman had been frightened of me. And the moment I realize it is when she takes out a can of pepper spray and… [ _Miming shaking and pressing a spray can. Richie makes a hissing sound._ ]

RICHIE: As she’s running away, and I’m slumped on the floor going… [ _Miming scratching at his face after getting pepper sprayed_ ] I feel compelled to set the record straight. [ _The audience laughs._ ] Because I’ve already been pepper sprayed but I don’t want to be perceived as, like. An _American Adult Male_ , y'know. And you guys know how _American Adult Males_ are. They sexually assault women and use that to score them points in their presidential campaigns. So as she’s running and as I’m clawing at my face I try to follow her. I’m like, on the sidewalk, going… [ _Eyes tightly shut, waddling with small steps, holding his hands out._ ] But I have no idea how far she’s gone or what direction she’s run off to. So right then and there, somewhere in Burbank, my face burning, feeling utterly defeated, I shout out ostensibly to this lady, who probably was nowhere within hearing range. I shout to god alone and possibly a handful of very confused and frightened commuters— 

RICHIE: [ _Aggressively_ ] _“Wait! I’m gay!”_

RICHIE: And that is the story of the first time I ever came out to anybody.

RICHIE: Good night, everybody!

_The footlights dim. Richie takes a bow as the crowd applauds. Trombones blare. He exits the stage._

♬♬♬

CUT TO:

_Richie laughs at the person behind the camera. He rolls his eyes._

RICHIE: I know I can’t just blame everything on childhood trauma and act like it’s all cool now. It’s not like I took a mask off and went: _Psych! I’m not an asshole! I just grew up in a bad town!_

CUT TO:

_Mike Hanlon purses his lips. He huffs out a sigh._

MIKE: I was angry, don’t get me wrong. Really angry. A lot of us got off pretty lightly, I’d say. Leaving with trauma’s already lucky. We got to leave. But I didn’t want to turn into that thing we all hated, you know what I mean? Some anger can be good though.

_He looks away from the camera, smiling in a wistful, slightly forlorn way._

CUT TO:

_Bev Marsh looks away from the camera. A hand runs through her hair absently as she speaks._

BEV: I think a lot of our motivation to live is driven by the fact that it seemed like Derry was determined to destroy us all. Staying alive doesn’t seem like much, but some days it feels like it’s everything.

RICHIE: _[From behind the camera] Marsh, that is the corniest thing I have ever—_

_She flips the camera off._

CUT TO:

_Stan Uris gesticulates widely with both hands as he speaks._

STAN: I do get the idea of using humor as a defense mechanism to not, I guess, feel things. I feel like it must be exhausting though, having to maintain this facetious wall.

RICHIE: _Hey we are not talking about me, Stanley._

STAN: What I don’t get is what these interviews are for. Is this the _Please Feel Sorry for Me_ special?

CUT TO:

_Bill Denbrough shakes his head and rolls his eyes._

BILL: I will say this, I don’t. I d—I don’t subscribe to the whole suffering artist ideal. Maybe if Derry hadn’t fucked me up, I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have written all of that. But who would wanna live through it in the first place?

CUT TO:

_Ben Hanscom looks down at his hands as he speaks, slowly and carefully, his words clear and intentional._

BEN: My only two states were to basically stay away from everybody or to be really needy, with no in-between. Not quite sure if that’s a thing Derry brought on me or to do with the general loneliness of, err. Everything. I try not to be either kind of person.

RICHIE: _You mean like a total mess?_

BEN: Like a total mess, yeah.

CUT TO:

_Eddie Kaspbrak exhales._

EDDIE: I’m in my forties, I just can’t bring myself to feel too, I guess, embittered. Everyone had a shitty childhood, one way or another. I can’t not be accountable for, like, keeping myself miserable and being genuinely shitty because I grew up in a small town where misery and being awful was the norm. I’ll grieve, sometimes, I guess, for the life I missed out on. How much better things could have been if I hadn’t delayed everything for reasons that became imaginary the further away I got from Derry. But it is what it is.

CUT TO:

_A sparse living room with a leather couch, armchairs and beanbags in mismatched patterns. Four people are sitting on the floor or beanbags, backs to the camera, perusing through something laid on the coffee table in front of them. Then, the camera swings. A door opens. Stan Uris and Eddie Kaspbrak enter the hallway._

EVERYBODY: _[Off-camera] Staaaan!_

STAN: _Hey guys!_

_The scene cuts to the group browsing photo albums and other scraps. Bev Marsh fishes out a cassette tape from a box, which Richie spots and immediately attempts to grab from her. Bill Denbrough and Mike Hanlon chat enthusiastically in one corner of the couch. Ben Hanscom pulls up a photo of three teenagers—clearly Bill, Richie and Mike—wearing shades, posing with guitars._

_Cut to the group standing and raising their glasses of wine or bottles of beer._

RICHIE: To the Losers! Townies no more.

_Everybody clinks their drinks. The group separates into smaller clusters of conversation. Cut to later in the day, with everybody scattered on the floor and seats. Two open pizza boxes._

BEV: This is nice, right? We should all get together more often.

STAN: Especially in circumstances that aren't traumatizing.

RICHIE: Stan is probably the only one here who Derry didn’t fuck up.

_The camera turns to and closes up on Stan, who is wearing an exaggerated rictus of exasperation. Beside him, Mike is shaking his head._

MIKE: You don't have to respond to that, Stan.

STAN: Thanks, man.

_From offscreen, someone tosses an empty can at Richie. The camera pans._

RICHIE: Hey!

_The camera pans again to Bill, who is now holding the cassette tape._

BILL: Richie! [ _Like Brad Pitt in SE7EN_ ] What’s in the taaaape?

_Everybody laughs. Richie tries to grab it from Bill, who tosses the tape to someone offscreen. The camera follows the tape to where Ben and Bev are crammed into the corner of the couch._

BEN: Oh, you mean the one he made for Eddie?

RICHIE: Billiam, shut up!

_The camera closes in on Bev, holding up the tape and waving it. It swivels to Richie, who is laughing, spots the camera and tries to hide his face._

EDDIE: _[From behind the camera] I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him embarrassed, you guys._

STAN: Well, if you all must know, Rich asked for my help and I think I remember—

RICHIE: No!

_Cut to a closeup of the mixtape in a dock, reels spinning. It is later in the day, marked by the dark in the windows and the warm light from lamps and sconces. The camera circles around the room. Everybody is dancing as Bowie’s Modern Love plays. Bill and Mike dancing goofily, Ben twirling Bev, Richie crowding over Eddie, arms thrown over his shoulders. Bill spots the camera, walks towards then behind it. Stan joins the rest of the group. Everybody dances as the scene slowly fades to black._

_♬♬♬_

_Never gonna fall for, modern love_

_Walks beside me, modern love_

_Walks on by, modern love_

_Gets me to the church on time—_

_♬♬♬_

FADE OUT

CUT TO:

_A video time-stamped 1995, of the seven—around seventeen—plus a kid around twelve, walking through a forest. A young Eddie waves at the camera, unhooks a latch hidden under the grass, swings open a door and climbs underground._

_The camera swings to a young Ben._

YOUNG BEN: [ _Over giggling offscreen_ ] Farewell to the Loser’s clubhouse.

_The footage cuts to inside an underground clubhouse. The camera swings to a mirror to show a young Stan holding the camera, waving at his reflection. A young Bill and Richie Tozier playing the guitar while the twelve-year-old watches. Mike on a hammock, absently shaking a tambourine, Bev and Eddie writing on a scrapbook. A closer shot shows photos and notes scattered. Scrawled on the cover: LOSERS 4EVER._

_The footage cuts to Richie and Mike carrying guitars, Bill holding up a tambourine._

YOUNG BILL: This is our farewell performance. W-we—we are Shark Puppy! A one two three—

_The camera swings to Richie, strumming the first chords on the guitar._

JUMP CUT TO:

_In the middle of the performance. The kid has joined in with a tambourine. The camera swings to the audience, where Ben and Bev are dancing and singing along._

_♬♬♬_

LOSERS: You'll never live like common people! You'll never do whatever common people do!

LOSERS: Never fail like common people! You'll never watch your life slide out of view—

_♬♬♬_

FADE TO BLACK

TITLE CARD: TOWNIE

CREDITS

_Bowie’s Modern Love plays over the credits._

_♬♬♬_

_But things don't really change_

_I'm standing in the wind_

_But I never wave bye-bye_

_But I try, I try—_

_♬♬♬_

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of the jokes are very loosely adapted from the following:  
> 
> 
> * "Community College English Teacher who Moonlights as a Drag Queen vibe" is pretty much stolen from a Youtube user comment found in [Showpig by Chris Fleming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zPPvS--4_4A)
>   
> 
> * The tenderness of sports is a mix of [Barbara Kruger](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/intricate-rituals) and [Jenny Slate](https://www.netflix.com/ph/title/81027753)
>   
> 
> * Various jokes from John Mulaney, notably the interview format (from [The Sack Lunch Bunch](https://www.netflix.com/ph/title/81104634)) and the [rape culture joke](http://www.cc.com/video-playlists/kw3fj0/the-opposition-with-jordan-klepper-welcome-to-the-opposition-w--jordan-klepper/uykiqr)
> 
> The song that Shark Puppy performs is [Common People by Pulp.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuTMWgOduFM)


End file.
